


Blade In My Hand, Blood On My Mind

by AnotherWorld3111



Series: What if it's Your Thoughts You Want to Silence? [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel is mentioned - Freeform, Depressed Dean Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, Its just sad feels okay, Not.. exactly a happy ending?, Stand Alone, Upset Sam Winchester, and Metadouche, so is Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 08:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16636376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWorld3111/pseuds/AnotherWorld3111
Summary: And you're the only one who can help me,but you never look long enough to see,that I'm floundering here in this never ending sea,not of water but the blood dripping out of me,I never meant for you to see,but now I need you, because dammit I can't breathe





	Blade In My Hand, Blood On My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a lot more angsty but i ended up finishing this right after my appointment soo... i was in a better headspace when i finished it?  
> like no seriously i was aiming for an mcd when i started this

He felt sluggish. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t felt like this – actually, that was two days ago. What Dean couldn’t remember was how he’d felt then.

Sure, in theory, Dean knew it was everything he wasn’t feeling now. Light, jovial, his smiles easier to come, would stay on longer, larger.

Right now, it took everything in him to not just withdraw completely, to not just check into the closest motel, and fall into bed. To retreat into the recesses of his mind, give into that darkness at the edge of his visions, that was permeating his brain. Jesus, if a nap didn’t sound like heaven right about now. However, Dean knew he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon if he did succumb to his body’s desire.

Sighing, Dean wiped a hand over his face, his fingers dragging roughly over his stubble. The edges of his lips quirked up in a faint immitation of humor. He didn’t even have the energy to get up most mornings, shaving was obviously out of the question.

Huffing in dry amusement, Dean pulled the key out of the ignition, leaning back as he stared at the building he was parked in front of. Abaddon may be dead, but there were still some demons continuing to do her dirty work for Dean didn’t even know what, refusing to get the message that Crowley was bac on his throne.

Dean’s eyes slid to the passenger seat beside him. Where his br–Sam would usually sit, the First Blade was lying instead, seemingly completely innocent despite the  _ killkillkill  _ energy it was radiating.

Eyes moving back to stare out of the windshield, Dean slumped down a little further. God, but he was just so  _ tired, _ for a moment Dean envisioned himself whining, ‘ _ but I don’t wanna! _ Before reluctantly shish kabob-ing the demons anyway, all the while ridiculously pouting. Snorting, Dean rolled his eyes at himself, brought out of his reverie just as the main door to the building opened. Eyes swiftly sharpening, Dean watched as a demon clad in black slid out of the narrow gap, looking around as he tucked his hands in his pocket, letting the door close behind him.

The demon barely spotted the Impala, before Dean was out, First Blade in hand. Revelling in the thrum of energy vibrating through his nerves and down into his very bones, all previous bleakness was forgotten. It was washed away by the red haze settling over Dean as he thrust the Blade straight through the demon’s chest. He sliced through flesh like better until he pierced the demon vessel’s heart.

The demon crackled with red energy as its life force fizzled out.

* * *

“Where’ve you been?” Sam’s voice was sharp, echoing throughout the bunkker, warring with the only other sound of Dean’s heavy boots as he descended the stairs slowly. His grip on the rail was a little too tight, a little too desperate.

However, his other hand refusing to let go of the Blade had to make Dean wonder: was he holding onto the rail because he was afraid he was going to collapse in a heap… or because Dean was afraid of letting go?

But he eventually did reach the bottom of the stairs, and he did have to practically wrench his fingers free before he faced his brother. Only to swiftly rethink the wisdom of his decision on that last part when he came to face a furiously confronting brother. It was visible that Sam was only just holding himself back from attacking Dean with an onslaught of questions. Once upon a time, Dean would have fondly called it as being one of the ways his brother showed concern. But times were different now, and Dean knew far better.

Still, he ensured his face was devoid of any emotion when he responded, though that wasn’t too hard. “Out.”

Sam’s eyebrows raised, unimpressed. “Really.” He returned flatly. “I didn’t notice. When did you even leave?”

Dean raised his own eyebrows at this. “What, didn’t notice me leaving about five days ago? I’m almost offended, Sam!” He jibed, but his arm was pulsing, and – too late, Dean noticed that he’d unwittingly let the Mark in, let his upper lip curl into a sneer as he glared daggers at his brother.

He tried smoothing out his features, but the damage was done, his brother already wincing. Yet, for his part, Sam didn’t let himself be deterred, a solid wall with his arms crossed in front of himself. On anyone else, it would have seemed defensive, but on Sam, the position only made him all the more intimidating.

“Yeah, Dean. I didn’t notice seeing as you left in the middle of the night.” Sam said. “So, where did you go off to that couldn’t wait until, oh, I don’t know, a few more hours?”

Gritting his teeth, Dean was ready to throw another retort right back in Sam’s face before he pulled himself short. There was no point to their arguing. So, why bother? Though, he knew there was only one thing that had Dean snapping at his brother when there was no need to. Resolutely avoiding doing anything that would bring any unwanted attention to his arm, Dean forced his tenses muscles to relax, slouching where he stood so he’d no longer look like he was on the offense. He never would be, anyway. Not against Sam.

“Found some demons to the east. So I headed out and took care of them.” Dean said gruffly. Figuring that was it, he started to edge away so he could get to the shower – he was fairly sure he’d missed a spot and there was some blood stains still crusting up his joints. However, Sam wasn’t relenting.

“Abaddon’s?” Sam said, his voice sharp again – and accusing, Dean didn’t fail to notice.

Frowning at his brother’s renewed anger, Dean felt a wave of exhaustion flood over him, despite the Blade still being in his hand. “Yeah?” He challenged.

“And you went after them by yourself?”

“Seems like it.”

“Damn it, Dean!” Dean didn’t even flinch when Sam slammed his hands on the table, although his eyebrows stayed pointedly raised, motionlessly following Sam’s movements with his eyes. There was no way that couldn’t have stung. “The hell is wrong with you? You couldn’t have waited long enough for me to grab my duffle or something?”

Dean snorted, looking away. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t realize you’d want in. Thought you’d be a little more preoccupied with trying to help Cas put away doucheatron behind heaven’s bars?” Dean reminded, glancing at the abundance of books that were, sure enough, spread out on the tables in the library, visible from where he stood.

Sam inhaled deeply, eyes closing. “Just because Cas and I–”

Yeah, okay. The blood on his clothes were starting to get a little too irksome for this nice, long, heart to heart he was having with his brother, except – oh, wait.

“–are focusing on Metatron, doesn’t mean that Abaddon’s demons are any less important.”

“Whatever.” It was mostly mumbled to himself, but he knew Sam heard. Before his brother could even open his eyes, though, Dean was already moving.

“Dean!” There was a threat in Sam’s voice, Dean was sure. But he continued to ignore it in favor of the allure of a shower, his gait unwavering.

Shower. Yes. A shower in a useless attempt to wash away his sins, his regrets… the ninety percent of crap that he was. Whatever was left of him could collapse into bed. And if –  _ when  _ – if he woke up…

Well. Dean knew that there were bottles hidden in almost every crook and cranny of his room.

**Author's Note:**

> a lot of guilt was involved in the summary... 
> 
> ...is.  
> ....
> 
> (sshhh)
> 
> also many many many thanks to kt and dani for being absolute sweethearts and cheering me on when i typed this in by asking for more like they were addicts wanting their next fix *coughs* me lately *coughs*


End file.
